


34 Degrees Celsius

by covertdismalness



Category: Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Senior High School, M/M, a bit of angst (if you squint) and mentions of eating problems, brief mentions of juanito wanting to die and a cameo of "Di Na Natuto" and basilio's table, english narration filipino dialogue, this story has the vibe of: pricey private school in the south (Not manila), unbeta'd we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24127750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/covertdismalness/pseuds/covertdismalness
Summary: Juanito just wipes his sweat, falling back into his bed. He stares into the ceiling for a bit, but as he caught himself in the act, he decides to turn his distaste to the ceiling and not himself. Summer is really hot this year.(or senior high school hasn't been easy for neither juanito nor placido)
Relationships: Juanito Pelaez/Placido Penitente
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	34 Degrees Celsius

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning: potentially triggering for starving yourself as a form of... self-harm (??)

Another bead of sweat drips down his forehead as he continues to willfully stare into his laptop. He ignores the grumbling from his stomach and Juanito supposes summer is really hot this year.

With a year of senior high left before college, Juanito settles on playing games online before his time runs out. It went well, he would think, just almost barely passing, and none of his projects and essays done fully independently. It was, dare he say, a success. His father would think otherwise, but what does _he_ know about senior high school?

(“It’s nothing like junior high, Juanito! I _don’t_ understand!” Placido nearly tore his hair out. “Di naman tayo nagtransfer ng school, parehas pa rin naman yung systema pati yung iba nating teachers!”

Juanito lazily lounged on two desks that he decided now are his new chairs. The teacher would definitely scold him if she saw. “Eh ano naman? What’s the point, dear Placidings?”

“Yung point _is_ walang nagbago pero parang lahat nagbago!” Juanito noticed that Placido was near to yelling. Good thing no one else was in the classroom. “Hindi naman sobrang hirap yung ibang subjects, pero bakit ang baba ng grades ko?”

“Mas tanga na ba ako this year?” Placido continued, “masyado lang ba mabait teachers natin noong Grade 10? Matagal na ba akong tanga, pinapamukha lang ng teachers na matalino ako? Putangina! Wag ka ngang umupo diyan!”).

A single shot and he was dead. He hung his head low.

“Gago ka talaga Tadeo, putangina,” he grumbles to his earphones. Game over because of his incompetent partner, not even anywhere near the final 10. _Fuck battle royales_.

He hears a loud obnoxious laugh from the other end of the line and winces. “Gg, Pelaez! Putangina talaga, mukhang kinakalawang na skill _z_ ko.” 

“Bro, sa susunod kasi makinig ka sakin, tatanga tanga ka nanaman eh.”

Another obnoxious laugh, and Tadeo is so damn lucky that he’s not present in the room right now or else Juanito would have definitely kicked him. “At least hindi ako kasing tanga ni Gani, ayun talaga wag mong iinvite sa game.”

That’s not an excuse, he sighs to himself and gets ready to reload the game. “Bahala ka. Ano, isa pang round?”

“Naks, adik na siya. Wala, Juanits, kailangan ko nang mag-aral. Si Maks nalang yayain mo.”

“Anong aral? Wala nang school, gago.”

“Bobo ka talaga kahit kailan! Pinasok ako nina mama sa review center, sabi nila kailangan ko na raw mag review para sa CETs.” ( _Tadeo says it in one word, Juanito notices. ‘Sets’_ ).

He shuts his eyes and runs a hand through his face. Putangina talaga. “Kailangan mo na ba talagang umalis? Baka naman makasingit pa tayo ng isang pang round?”

“Yeah,” ( _Yeah, Tadeo cuts it short and says it like ‘ye’_ ) “kailangan ko na talagang umalis, eh. Bukas nalang ulit Pelaez.”

Tadeo drops the call without hesitation and Juanito just wipes his sweat, falling back into his bed. He stares into the ceiling for a bit, but as he caught himself in the act, he decides to turn his distaste to the ceiling and not himself. Summer _is_ really hot this year, he confirms, but he tries to ignore the fact that it has nothing to do with the churning of his stomach.

Hours have passed. By the time Placido finally replies to his message, Juanito finds himself finally eating something after several hours of starving.

_g akong kumain sa labas, sabi ni nay oks lang. pero bawal ako sa tanghali, may review pa ko non_

He doesn’t bother sending back a response. Review school, huh?

While Juanito has been meticulously trying to punish himself through different means, his friends have actually been punishing themselves productively with review.

Good for them...

In the past days, the only few words he has received from Placido through their chat were all the different ways he was gonna fail his entrance exams and how difficult his review has been. 

He sighs.

Placido complains as if he isn’t the one with the upper hand here. Review this, review that; sakit sa ulo this, sakit sa ulo that.

Placido will be fine, he’s unbelievably intelligent and he’s fortunate enough to have a head start at review center because of his paranoid mother.

(“Tita alam mo namang kaya pumasa nan sa UPCAT kahit na di pa yan mag-aral eh!”

“Hay jusko, hindi ko sinasabing hindi matalino anak ko Juanito, naninigurado lang!”

“‘Kow! Sige na tita, pag lumabas na results, ako unang unang magcocomment sa Facebook post mo!”).

Placido will be fine, but he can’t tell Placido that because then that will invalidate his feelings and that makes him a Bad Friend. 

The words Bad Friend will _never_ be in Juanito’s vocabulary. Bad, not at all! Friend... well, hopefully not just.

He turns off his phone, silent as the only thing he hears throughout the house is his father loudly speaking to his phone with a colleague. He looks down at his plate and suddenly loses his appetite.

Juanito Pelaez starves.

Now for someone as privileged as him, saying that is almost perverse, yet there is no better way that he could put it. 

Juanito Pelaez could have anything he could want in his life. With the family’s money, his dad’s influence and his giddy charms, Juanito could be satisfied with all that he has for a whole lifetime (maybe even two).

But still, he wants _more_. There is a heat (as hot as this damn summer) within him, a fire that matches his hunger and starvation for more. He wants more from his life, he wants more from his father, he wants more from his friend (friend, _friend_ ), he wants more from himself.

All his life, everything could have been and has always been handed down to him in a silver plate. Never has he worked hard for anything himself nor aimed for his _own_ goals.

(With a single long stroke of a note from the violin, Juanito was sure that this was what he wanted his whole life. With wide eyes, he knew he wanted to be just like them.

Young and still fiddling with fancy shirts his family has forced on him, never has Juanito been so sure of anything until this moment in the concerto. 

_Here it is_ , he thought, _the sound of my soul_

The symphony hugged him like ocean waves and suddenly he was drowning with _want_. The deep rumbling of the orchestra paralleled the unexplained rumbling in his soul, or was it his stomach?

Before he knew it, his dreams were to get crushed before the second he could even begin).

 _How selfish of him_ , he could tell himself, but it still doesn’t banish the deep and painful churning in his stomach that keeps him awake. _At least he knew_ , he could also tell himself, but that doesn’t excuse all the things he puts himself through for being so selfish.

Juanito Pelaez starves _himself_.

Deprivation has always been the easiest answer for the parts of himself that he has so deeply disliked, (for the him that he so deeply hated).

Every organism needs sustenance to survive and if he is desperate to kill the parasite within him that drives him to be so selfish and worthless, then he is more than willing to do anything.

There was something within himself that he hated, something he was determined to kill (yet it slowly becomes more apparent to himself that maybe this horrible part of him has taken over and become his whole self).

Starving comes with the skipped meals, the baths untaken, the papers he didn’t submit, and all his thoughts and feelings that go unshared. Starving comes with the pain Juanito has trained himself to endure.

(Juanito supposed that summer isn’t really boring, it’s just that he’s been lonely! That’s all!

He opened his phone again and checked his messages, not surprised that Placido still hasn’t said anything to him. Nowadays it has always been curt responses and messages that aren’t followed by any response.

Juanito was feeling lucky though. Who cares if he seemed desperate? He was just trying to be a good friend. He shot Placido with a suggestion to go to the mall with him, his treat! He added just in case Placido found any excuse not to go.

Juanito tried to convince himself that it’s his lucky day as he continued to wait for Juanito’s reply for minutes, then hours, then days).

Juanito isn’t complaining, but he eats his feelings while his stomach eats itself.

“Aalis ba talaga tayo? Huy! Naghihintay driver ko sa baba!”

Unbelievable! Juanito messaged Placido that he was about to leave his house to pick him up 5 minutes before he even left! 

_sige maghahanda na ko_

Replied Placido, but apparently not! Really, he feels betrayed, not once has he used the ‘sige, omw na’ lie to Placido, and this is what Placido returns to him? _Que horror_ , he would swoon.

He impatiently taps his foot continuously, almost comically, to make a point that Placido is, in fact, late.

“Edi sabihin mong umalis na muna! Pwede naman tayong mag commute nalang. Pati, baka maya maya pa tayo makaalis. Nakakahiya naman sa kaniya.”

Juanito didn’t bother to tell Placido that his dad cleared out his driver’s schedule for today just specifically for him and his shenanigans. He groans and sits down on the foot of Placido’s bed with an exaggerated huff.

_kuya wil, sorry pero baka matagalan kami dito. park muna kayo, text ko po kayo pag aalis na_

He plops his phone beside him when he received a quick response from his driver: ‘cge juanito txt nlng kayo’.

“So bakit ba ang tagal mo? Ang aga kong nagtext, ah?”

Placido has his back faced to him on the other side of the room as he furiously slouches over his desk. Almost his whole torso is leaning on the table with the way he’s sat, Juanito notices curiously.

“Naghanda na nga ako,” _(he doesn’t even bother to look behind him, Juanito thinks)_ , “pero nawala sa isip kong may kailan akong tapusin para sa klase ko bukas, eh di ko rin naman magagawa mamaya o mamayang gabi.”

“Ba’t di mo nalang gawin bukas bago klase mo?” This time Placido actually does turn around to glare wordlessly at him. Juanito puts his hands up in defence, “okay! Okay, joke lang! Eto naman di mabiro.”

Placido faces his back to him again and resumes with whatever he was doing in the first place. “Bahala ka, basta,” he falters for a bit, “tapusin ko lang to nang saglit. Promise saglit nalang ‘to!”

Juanito reconsiders. He doesn’t mind waiting, it’s Placido after all. 

Juanito falls back to Placido’s bed and stares above. The room goes silent as Juanito closes his eyes and the soft whirring of the electric fan and the shifts of Placido’s paper occupies his thoughts. He opens his eyes and stare a bit more. He squints his eyes at the realization that he has been staring at ceilings a lot nowadays.

_Goddamn review._

He internally groans and pulls his phone out. Not even 5 minutes have passed yet, but it felt like he has been waiting for Placido for a life time, (well, if you put it another way, maybe so).

He plays “Di Na Natuto” on his phone and looks up the ceiling. He places his phone on the top of his stomach, feeling the thrumming from the music against his clothed skin; he pretends that it’s the music that makes his stomach vibrate and not the deep quelling hunger and queasiness in him. He wipes sweat from his forehead. Unfair how the electric fan was only pointed at Placido’s direction, he thought.

“Patayin mo nga yan.”

Juanito closes his eyes, ignoring how hot it is. The ceiling is taunting him and he knows it; the more he stares, the more he loses his mind. Even though he closes his eyes, he knows it’s a battle he will only inevitably lose.

“Sabi mo kakain tayo _ooo_ ” he prolongs the last vowel to a childish whine. Placido rolls his eyes but it goes unappreciated as Juanito still has his eyes closed.

His fingers don’t budge as it remains clasped over his phone on top of his stomach. He can still feel the thrumming. His heart aches a little bit with the singers word after word.

“Kapag tumahimik ka mas mabilis ko tong matatapos… Huy! Bili na, alam mo namang di ko pwedeng bastahin tong review ko.” Placido’s voice carefully reflect how tired he has been the past days, “wag ka nang dumagdag sa problema ko.”

And just like that it was silent once again, silent like the first night he had with Placido where they shared a coffee and he realized that he might like his friend _more_ than a friend.

Placido’s right. Clearly he’s been having difficulty these days, even worse than just regular days. And Juanito knows how bad even just regular days can come off, after all, he and Placido tell each other everything, ( _do I really? Do I really him tell_ everything _?_ ).

With a low self-esteem, Placido clearly thinks that he won’t pass any entrance exam he will take, that he’ll only end up an even bigger failure than he already is; and whatever lesser or bigger self-esteem Juanito has within himself, it’s no reason to disregard Placido’s feelings. No matter how much words he wants to tell Placido, no matter how much he wants to yell to the world that clearly it’s Juanito who’s gonna fail and not Placido, he just _can’t_ do that.

Placido will always come before himself, and he promises himself that. He may like Placido or he may not anymore, but that doesn’t matter more than the fact that he just can’t afford to lose him.

Juanito is hurting but Placido is hurting too, and that matters more. He can’t complain and compare his state to Placido, knowing Placido definitely has it worse than him.

_Selfish. I’ve been wanting for too much, I’ve been asking for too much. Nakakahiya ka._

The music is off and the room has been silent for a long time now, only the idle flipping of Placido’s books and his furious scratching on his yellow pad. The ceiling becomes less daunting to Juanito as his vision starts to blur, only with the scary realization that he’s been tearing up.

_Not now._

He internally groans at how weak he’s being and furiously wiped his eyes before Placido gets to turn around and see him. Putangina _aaa._ He’d ask himself why is he being like this, but he wouldn’t know how to answer. He needs to sober the fuck up and remind himself that this day hasn’t even started yet.

He looks up at the ceiling only to be further discouraged. He frowns, _not you again_. Is this really how pathetic he’s been? Crying and staring at walls. 

“Okay good news, patapos na ako. Legit, tatlong questions nalang.”

Juanito contemplates what to answer.

“Yeet.”

Okay good answer. Placido doesn’t respond to that and finally finishes after a while. And so they go.

Juanito Pelaez is running out of gas.

(“I’ve been feeling a lot more pathetic these days” Placido sighs.

It’s a perfect time to say _mood_ , but Juanito settles for “Oh?”

“Alam mo yun? Dapat sinimulan ko na Entrep ko ilang araw pa eh. Iba nating classmates sobrang hard working pero parang wala akong ginagawa.”

 _Heh, pano naman ako_. Juanito hums in agreement instead.

“I can’t move and everyone else is already moving.”

“Maybe it just looks like you’re not moving but you are... Maybe they’re faster?”

“Or, fuck, you have no gas!”)

Placido trudges on mechanically and Juanito just watches. Getting left behind. Unmoving, it almost feels like Juanito’s stomach is the furnace of an engine that feeds in order to keep him going. There is a fire, a _heat_ , within him that burns him and his stomach up, desperate to move. Whilst the care that he so deprives himself is the gas that he lacks.

Not the best metaphor, Juanito would think, but the point still stood; and the point is that he is ( _stuck_ ,) running out of gas.

It’s the absurd and pathetic feeling that sits at the bottom of his stomach telling him that he’ll never make it, that he’s a failure in every possible way. A feeling so amplified by the fact that other people are probably doing so much better than him in so many ways. 

He’s heard it all before, comparing yourself to others is neither good nor constructive to the self, but that doesn’t deny the fact that Juanito Pelaez is getting left behind and feeling more and more ridiculous by the hour. 

He could try to do something about it. Nag his dad to enroll him to a review school, do habitual self-studying, maybe work out and get himself together for the love of god. A single open of his mouth, a couple words that he leaves unsaid; maybe those were all it could’ve taken, but his mind and body reminds him more and more that he is immobile. Immobile in his own life, immobile in his own body, and immobile in his own feelings. 

And so he moves. The frantic pull at the string, the impatient tapping of his feet, the rhythm that thrums through his fingertips, the back and forth pacing he does in Placido’s room that sends both of them in a spiral. Ironic in his own mind that he becomes a buzzing mess whilst being an unmoving tragedy waiting to happen. He worries, and his worries make his mind more lethargic and his body more _alive_. 

Insecure about his own capabilities and his own future, Juanito runs out of gas. Keeping up becomes harder and harder when you’re stuck to what and who you are, (“Ako’y isang malaki _iii_ ng kahihiyan” he whined to Placido). The world continues to move while he’s stuck in yesterday, like the breeze pushing by him and the tides that move back and forth as he drowns.

  
  


(“May napili ka na bang course?” he asked Placido one day. It perfectly mirrored the same question his guidance counselor and teachers asked frequently.

Placido was still fixing his things under his desk as he glanced at him, sat on top of the tables with his legs askew again. “Wala pa. Bakit?”

“Wala lang. Lagi kasi ako kinukulit ni sir.” Juanito didn’t notice his fingers lightly tapping at Basilio’s desk, but Placido did. Juanito groans, “Agh! Nakakabad trip din kasi. Aba malay ko ba!”

“Eh trabaho rin naman nila yon.” Placido picked up a couple of his books and walked towards the door. Juanito shot off of Basilio’s desk and followed Placido out, walking to the lockers. “Malamang, gagraduate na tayo next year pagkatapos ng Grade 12.”

“Eh bakit sila nagtatanong ngayong Grade 11?”

“Bobo,” Placido lightly chuckled, “para pagtapak mo sa Grade 12 may idea ka na. Kahit general field manlang.”

“Kung maka ‘bobo’ ka naman. Ikaw, ba’t wala ka paring course?” he watched Placido close his locker, books neatfully discarded. The response took a while and he followed Placido again as he started to walk towards the door back into the room.

“Malay ko rin.”

“May idea ka na ba kung saang university ka pupunta?”

“Kung san man ako pumasa.”

“Madaming pupuntang Manila. Sabi ni Gani sa Ateneo daw siya.”

“Feeling ko naman halos lahat tayo sa Maynila. Bakit, ikaw ba hindi?”

If _hmph_ was a facial expression, it would’ve been Juanito’s face at that moment. “Sa Manila rin. Sabi ni dad eh. Baka gusto niya rin ako papuntahin sa Ateneo… kung pumasa?”

Placido nodded and picked his bag up. Finally, he was done fixing his things. They left the already deserted classroom 5 minutes after everyone has left too. It was almost as if Placido carefully makes sure to always be the first to come and the last to leave.

 _His heart, Juanito could think ‘his heart’, but that is so cheesy and Placido would’ve slapped him silly_.

“Marami nang naghahanda para sa mga entrance exams.” Placido lightly commented. “Mukhang lahat sila desperado nang maghanda para sa college. Working hard, gustong pumasa, mga ganun…”

Juanito said nothing.

“Handa ka na ba mag college?” Placido suddenly asked.)

Nowadays he just tries to hold on. Holding on to _whatever_ he could. The sun had been setting for a while when Juanito finds himself staring at the ceiling again, his arms loosely wrapped around his violin as an obvious but well-meant maltreatment to his instrument. The bow is probably somewhere, haphazardly thrown in the sea of a bed he’s lying on. He sighs. 

_God it’s so hot._

Practicing always felt good, it was a sane reminder of consistency in his mess of a mind, but nowadays that light has been flickering for a long while now. He loosely hugs and clings onto his violin as he stares into the wall, trying to hold on.

He felt his phone violently vibrate and tries to will himself to not check it so quickly as not to be disappointed. He fails.

_aaaAAAAAAAAA_

_sorry kakatapos ko lang mag-aral lol kapagod_

He, again, tries not respond too quickly. He fails.

_dfahghka ayos lang_

He soon sees the mark that Placido has seen his response. He waits for nothing, and so nothing came. It’s alright.

He typed carefully, ‘may ginagawa ka ba?’ just anything to get to talk to him again. ‘gusto mong call tayo? wala akong magawa’. He reconsiders his screen, staring again. He groans and deletes the words one by one as a small voice within him protested.

He figured that if ever Placido gets to pass to those good universities he would never be qualified to, he’d probably never see him again. So maybe he isn’t ready to go to college, maybe he isn’t ready to graduate just yet.

Time has been moving so fast, yet at the same time so slow in this summer. He feels like he’s losing everything, ( _I’m losing my damn mind_ ).

He picks his phone up again, maybe hoping that Placido instead has sent him something. (He didn’t). He opens his weather application instead just to be sure of something, anything, and gain some sense of reality. 34° celsius. _Shit_.

He finally lets his violin go. It doesn’t make a thump as it hits his bed.

He stares at the ceiling again, this time feeling a bit braver as he does. He’s accepted that this is how it is. The room felt so quiet but Juanito could feel and hear the beating of his heart and the growling of his stomach. He could accept defeat. He could starve, run out of gas, and live his life just staring into the abyss straight on; but he just couldn’t lose Placido. He’s trying to hold on (to Placido, to the fantasy that maybe they could be together, that maybe he feels the same) to his sanity.

He felt his phone buzz once again. Maybe it’s Placido, or Tadeo finally ready for that round two that he owed Juanito. He doesn’t check this time, maybe later. He felt it buzz again and gosh is summer really hot this year, he wonders.

**Author's Note:**

> im not explaining this at all, but i hope you liked it. i worked p hard on this and i like it a lot. i had a bit of fun writing this. maybe leave a kudos or a comment, call me out on typos and bad grammar.
> 
> hope youre doing fine, with the quarantine and all. always stay safe!


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